This morning I was sitting in the waiting room at my doctor's office when I saw something that piqued my interest on social media. It was a post stating that Krispy Kreme was selling a dozen donuts for the unheard of sum of .77 cents. Now up until that particular moment I did not even want a donut, much less twelve of them. But then I remembered I had to drive right past the Krispy Kreme store on my way home. At that moment I knew that I would be stopping. Upon posting and sharing on Facebook I also found out that while the deal was correct, there was a slight catch. In order to purchase a dozen donuts for the special price, you must pay full price for a second dozen. This meant that my twelve donuts just became twenty-four. What on earth was I going to do with twenty-four donuts? Eat them is the logical answer, but not the best answer. Seriously, I rarely allow myself that luxury, and when I do, I normally share a single donut with my hubby, just to help lessen the ill effects. So, while common sense dictated that I forgo the guilty pleasures, the bargain hunter in me fought traffic and finally found an illegal parking place on the street, well away from the buildings own parking lot. I skirted thru traffic, hopped the ditch, making my way through the sea of cars, and safely into the building. There I was met with a long line of people waiting their turn to order the tasty treats. The line wrapped around the entire inside of the building and yet I did not see a single person stick their head in the door, access the crowd and turn away. No, we were all in this together, all seeking to take part of that wonderful deal. As I neared the counter the woman on the business side of the counter called out that they were all out of chocolate glazed. This really irritated the gentleman in front of me who belted out a rant about how that was his sole purpose in coming here. You would have thought the man would have left after hearing the news. I mean since they were out of what he proclaimed at being his sole purpose and all, but as the line moved forward so did he. A deal is a deal after all, even if it's not the deal you wanted. Twenty-three minutes after I walked into the building I left with two dozen original donuts, which cost me just over eight dollars, and still had no idea what I was going to do with them. I thought I had found my answer when driving home and realized I was speeding. I just smiled and glanced at the boxes of donuts. Sadly, I mean fortunately, I didn't have a chance to see if it was a cliché or if in fact police officers really do like donuts... On my way home I had to stop and pick up a prescription. Even though my doctor had wired it in nearly an hour prior to my arrival the prescription was not ready. This was not the first time; it happens this way each time. It is the pharmacy's version of the .77 cent dozen. They give you fifteen minutes to shop while you wait; knowing that in most cases in that fifteen minutes you will find something you simply cannot live without. These things, the freebees, the discounts, the fifteen minute waits are all brilliant marketing ploys set forth by the industry to real us in. It works too, just look at me. I'm a prime example, as I write, I'm still trying to figure out what I'm going to do with the twenty-THREE donuts that are now sitting on my counter. *Burp*

Today's crazy post of the day... This morning when driving to the Y, I was following behind a vehicle which was traveling way below the posted speed limit. For nearly a mile I followed at speeds sometimes as low as 25 in a 35. As soon as the road opened up, and gave way to a second lane I shot past the SUV. The driver, a woman, was on her cell phone and oblivious to the string of cars traveling behind her. After I passed I eased back into the lane she was in and continued along my way. I turned onto Battlefield. She followed, keeping her distance once again blocking the way of those traveling behind her. As it turned out she was heading to the same place as I, pulling in several moments later with her phone still glued to her ear. I sat in my truck for several moments telling myself to behave. I watched as she parked, and walked through the parking lot, in front of a moving car, still chatting on her phone. I resisted the urge to say something to her, figuring nothing good would have come of the "discussion." Moments later we were in the same locker room. By now she'd ended her call and still I debated speaking with her. I'm not really sure what I wanted to say, but her actions had rubbed me the wrong way. Turns out she was going to the pool, now I was really going to have to say something. I mean if she couldn't drive then no way was she going to stay out of my way in the pool. Luckily, for both of us, she went to the lap pool instead of the therapy pool, so no discussion was necessary. I was in "my" pool still fuming when it dawned on me I was allowing this woman's actions to ruin my morning. Why? Because she made me late to the pool? It wasn't like I was in a hurry to begin with. Truth be told, I was only upset because she wasn't paying attention. So I told myself to get over it and lose the negativity. As I did this the woman's locker room door opened. It does that on occasion, when people push the button, but there was no one standing there. From my vantage point I could see there was no one on the inside of the locker room waiting to exit either. The door simply opened and closed seemingly on its own. I laughed to myself thinking that it was the negativity leaving the building... It just goes to show that if someone pisses you off you can keep it bottled up and let it dictate how your day is going to go. Or, you can send it packing and allow yourself to find something to make you smile. In my case letting go of my anger showed that when one door closed the other one opened, this time in a very literal way... thought for the day, let go of your anger and find something to make you smile!

Friday March 28th Today was the Navy Gator Ball. Since I did not want to go to such a formal event sporting a skunk stripe I booked an appointment with my stylist. She fixed my hair and then used the Bumble and Bumble temporary color spray to spray my head. The stuff covers very well and I was happy with the results. Fast forward nine hours later after arriving home from the ball. The color felt heavy and thick and I wanted it off of my head. I am one to wash my face before I get in the shower, not sure why, it is just something I've always done. Imagine my surprise when I lifted my bangs to put my headband on and my entire forehead was deep black! Luckily this could not be seen under my bangs. I attempt to wash my face and my hands become a black, gooey, sudsy mess. Okay plan B. I move to the shower to finish. Once in the shower I wash my face then proceed to scrub my scalp. Now I have deep black streaks rolling down my torso. It takes several application of shampoo to get the "temporary color" out of my hair. As I scrubbed I realized how close to disaster I had actually come. You see the forecast called for rain, which thankfully held off for the duration of our outing, but can you imagine how devastating it would have been to have arrived at the ball with black streaks seeping down my face... I'm glad things ended well. The rain held off and I have this awesome picture with my wonderful hubby, which will probably be the last official picture of me with dark hair. Smile and enjoy life's journey, I know I sure am!

I﻿N An AGE WHERE SO MANY THINGS ARE ARTIFICIAL SOME WOMEN ARE FIGHTING BACK, STRIPPING OFF THEIR DEFENSES AND RETURNING TO THEIR ROOTS. ﻿At long last I have joined my silver sisters and am proud to consider myself among those fearless women. While still on the fence about whether or not to transition I noticed a lady, one who I had not seen before, at the front desk at the YMCA. The lady appeared to be fairly young, yet she sported a stunning head of long silver hair. The look was quite becoming on her. I was running late for a class so I made a mental note to speak with her on my way out. Unfortunately she was not behind the desk when I left. Three visits later I saw her again. My husband and I were entering the Y and she was once again sitting behind the desk. I got my husband's attention and told him I liked her hair and further wondered if it was natural or if she had highlights as some many others seem to be doing these days. . My hubby suggested I speak with her which I intended to do. I waited for her to finish what she was doing and then asked about her hair. She assured me hers was natural. I told her I was considering doing the same thing. She said the next time I came in she would give me some websites for transitioning. Websites for transitioning? That shocked me. I just about live on the internet, why had I had never considered Googling the subject? After arriving back home I did just that and was overjoyed by the wealth of information on transitioning. I poured though page after page on the subject and by the end of the weekend had made the decision to stop coloring my hair. The comments I read had me questioning why I had never thought about taking the leap before. Questioning the chemicals, financial aspects and simple freedom that comes with going natural. For years we've been told to cover up. To hide behind chemicals and products as if somehow the natural metamorphosis women undergo is a thing to be ashamed of. But now, It seems as though I am on the edge of an evolution. A silver movement that is slowly taking hold around the world. Women of all ages and nationalities reclaiming their true selves. embracing their God given beauty. It seems as though everywhere I go now, I see silver heads. Have they always been there and I'm just now noticing? Or is this phenomenon something new? And what about the woman at the Y? The silver haired lady, who I have not seen since making my decision. Was it just a fluke that she was temporarily working the front desk when I was ready to make my decision? Of was she put in my path for the very purpose of helping me along the way? I like to think she is my silver angel, a woman without so much of a hint of makeup, but still a standout with her natural silver locks shimmering under the florescent glow of the artificial lights. My journey continues...

After careful deliberation I have decided it is time for me to hop off the color bandwagon and get back to my roots. My "ah ha moment" started gradually, and has now worked its way to a full-blown "I have to do this! " The pivotal point for me was seeing a picture of myself with my gray roots showing. It was week three of my every four week coloring process. The hubby and I attended a holiday party. During the only dance the hubby and I partook of, some overzealous cameraman decided that the best angle for a photograph would be taken from atop a chair. Not only did the camera get a facial expression which looked like I was mincing words with my beloved hubby (certainly not) it captured my infamous third week skunk stripe. To make matters worse, the photo now appears on a website with all the other photos from the night. It was in looking at that picture that I got upset. Not only due to the humiliating photo, but to the fact that I felt frustrated. I spend a great deal of time and money each month to look my best, and yet, I still have that dreaded skunk stripe period in-between my color appointments. After seeing that photo, I decided that I had two choices, to color more frequently, or to stop coloring all together. At least by not coloring it, my hair, in theory, should then be all one color. That is unless of course I find that I am not fully gray, but instead a blend of salt and pepper. Even still, it would be the same blend throughout. Then, whether I have my hair pulled back for a morning at the gym, or am at the three week mark, my hair will, at least in my mind, look more presentable. Once I decided to make the change I began doing research. In scouring the web I was pleasantly surprised at the amount of information out there. Information, that made me more and more convinced that I am doing the right thing. I always have a tremendous amount of hair loss, which I've always attributed to the fact that I have hypothyroidism. Turns out I may have been mistaken. I always blamed my dry, itchy, scalp on the coloring process, but it actually never occurred to me that the extreme hair loss could also be a result of the chemical process that goes with coloring ones hair each month. Luckily my hair is healthy and replenishes itself constantly to keep me from going bald, but the hair I have to remove from the floor on a daily basis still causes me to wonder. I am looking forward to see if the hair loss situation remedies itself once I make the transition and am no longer putting chemicals on my head. Another thing that reinforced my decision was a comment I read. One that hit way too close to home. The writer pondered the question "I eat right and exercise, so why do I continue to put these chemicals on my head each month?" That statement was like a punch in the gut for me. And frankly it leaves me wondering why I did not consider this fact before now. Did my need for coverage override my brain? Seriously, what are these chemicals doing to my scalp? If the color can come off on a towel then isn't it logical they are also leaching into my body? What is that doing to my overall health? When weighing the pros and cons, it is clear that everything is pointing in the same direction, going natural. The big question is how to get through the process. Transitioning, while liberating, can also be incredibly scary. I think I've nearly driven my dear hubby crazy worrying over the process to come. He is supportive. But he is also a man. A man, without any hair. How liberating. But I also remember his transition to that phase. A transition, that included a great deal of hat wearing, until that fateful day, when he finally got the nerve to take a razor to his scalp. If woman could only be so fortunate, to take that leap and not be ostracized, assumed ill or have references made to her sexual preference. So, not ready to shave my head, I am now researching my options. Let it grow, and deal with the skunk stripe. Continue to highlight with a color close to my roots to help the process appear more subtle. Chop it all off, then continue to cut until I finally get to my full, natural, color. Wear a wig. A Scarf. Or even a headband. The bottom line is I have options. Options which, no matter what I choose, will help me get to the place I intend to go. While currently the natural look is the road less traveled, it is the road I prefer to take. A journey, such as it is, to be free. Free from deception. Free from unwanted chemicals. Will I be silver, gray, white, or salt & Pepper? At this point only time will tell. While some may not agree with my decision, the bottom line it is "my" decision. I'm taking the stand. I'm doing this for me. I'm giving myself permission to love the woman I see in the mirror, no matter the color of the hair...

As often is the case with dogs, Oliver has a sensitive stomach. For the last two weeks I've been trying him on a new holistic dog food, which he seems to enjoy and more importantly tolerate. The negative side to this is there are only two places that carry it within a 25 mile radius. This morning I decided to try a feed store which is a bit closer. Plugging in the address I proceeded to drive to the boonies. I think I actually heard banjos at one point during my trip, of course, that could have just been the bluegrass station on my radio. Upon arriving I found I was at a garage size place that went very well with the banjo music. I stepped inside to get the dog food and felt as if I had taken a step back in time. Rather fitting since I am currently working on a time travel romance. To be clear, while intimate in size, there was nothing romantic about the place in which I was now standing. The shelves were cluttered, as if trying to get as much inventory into the small space as possible. A small, wiry, beige terrier greeted me at the door, sniffing thoroughly before allowing me to pass. I then had to step over a large, impressive, Rottweilerwho was lying in the aisle chewing lazily on a rawhide. As a dog trainer I must admit, while the dog appeared passive, I was not overly fond of being forced to navigate around unknown animals in such a way. I quickly found the food which I had came for and hurried to the counter.It was then I noticed a third dog. Near as I can tell the dog belonged to man in a bright yellow raincoat, who was at the same counter inquiring about chickens. Dog number three, a large lab mix, must have decided he was the top dog in the room, as he promptly lifted his leg, urinating on the low lying shelf next to the counter. An action that incensed the Rottweiler, who left his rawhide and stood, hackles raised, challenging the lab. The two dogs stood off for several moments before deciding that maybe they should just wrestle to see who was in fact the top dog. Remember when I said the store was small? I assure you, add two dogs tousling in the aisles, and it becomes downright claustrophobic. As I was paying, it occurred to me that none of the others in the room, four besides me, seemed to find any of this unusual. Nor did any of the other make any attempt to curb the dogs enthusiasm. Pocketing my change, I saw the little wiry terrier slip under the counter with his newly procured rawhide. Not waiting to see what was to happen when the Rottweiler discovered it missing, I managed to slip out of the store, back into reality, before further chaos ensued... So let me ask you, how was your morning?

Anyone that spends any time standing and talking with me will notice one very disturbing thing. I am crooked in a very literal way. I lean to the side.

Not just a little, I am like the human equivalent of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. No one knows why I lean. I am not even sure when it began as I have been this way for as long as I can remember. Chiropractors all want to fix me, but they soon discover that they cannot.

With the leaning come other issues as it seems that when you lean it affects your neck, shoulder, hips, legs and so on. Lately I have rediscovered my stride, having lost it over the last six months or so, and have began walking once more. I walk an average of 4 miles a day, which, while good, is still down from last year's five. In resuming walking, my body has begun overcompensating for the fact that I'm crooked and I was having some issues with numbness in my lower legs. Knowing I was long overdue for a chiropractic tune up I started making phone calls, hoping to find one locally. I used to go to one in Virginia Beach, but he has changed his adjusting methods, opting to use a hand held device for adjustments instead of the old school leaning on your body and making you go snap, crackle and pop. I am sure some prefer the new method; I however am not one of those people. That was the reason I found myself in Dr. Stewarts office this week.

I liked him immediately, as he reminded me of a non pompous, un-tanned, version of Dr. Ordon, from the TV show The Doctor's. Dr. Stewart came across as honest and sincere and told me straight from the start that he could not fix me. He feels he can help me manage the situation and help me feel better but he knew, and admitted from the start, that he will not be able to "fix" me. Knowing that to be true it was very refreshing not to hear the same old BS of how we can correct this. He not only adjusted me, he showed me some exercises and told me which ones to stay away from, he also talked about other things that might help such as adjusting the way I carry my purse.

I carry a very large handbag. It is a genuine Hobo bag made of soft leather and looks more like a overnight bag than a purse but, I love my bag. I read about a purse such as this in the Stephanie Plum series by one of my favorite authors, Janet Evanovich. In the books Stephanie keeps everything she needs in that bag and, well, after hearing how much help that bag can be I just had to find one. I have had it two years and I must say Stephanie is right, you can carry nearly half the house in that bag! Therein lies one of the problems, the purse is terribly heavy. Now thankfully Dr. Stewart did not try to dissuade me from carrying such a hefty purse. Instead he commended me for carrying it cross-body saying that actually helps. What he did suggest was for me to drape it on the opposite side from which I normally carry it. So I was like sure, I can do that. I slipped the purse over my head, flipped in and brought it right back down. I looked down and was like hmmm, that didn't work did it? I tried it three more times, much to the amusement of the good Dr. Each time I would merely flip the purse and bring it back to the original position. Apparently my brain does not function outside of what it considers to be normal as I had a devil of a time getting that purse onto the other side of my body. This morning, when I went out, my purse was in its usual resting place. It is plain to see that I will always be a work in progress. I guess some things are just not meant to be fixed...

Today I had several workmen around the house. Two fixing our air conditioner, which had went out last week, and two replacing our gutters, which were well past their prime. Watching them reminded me of something that had happened many years ago that I felt was worth sharing. My favorite memory about a worker coming to the house is one from many years ago. Don was away –at sea yet again- and we lived in military housing. As is par for the course when he was away our refrigerator went out. As any military wife will attest, most appliances break within days of the spouse departing. So the repairman shows up and busies himself with the task of fixing the fridge. I was hard at work trying to keep our kids out of his way. All three were under four at the time and very interested in the goings on within the fridge.

The guy worked for most of the morning making the repairs and finally resuscitates the wayward beast. As he was packing up he hesitated, looked almost embarrassed by his impending question, and then finally said what was on his mind. “Ma’am can I buy you and the kids some food?”

The question startled me but then he explained how it was none of his business but he saw, while he was working on the appliance, that I didn’t have any meat in the fridge. I smiled, thanked him profusely then took him to our breakfast nook, where we kept our deep freezer, which was fully stocked with food. I will never forget the offered generosity of that kind stranger.

I am nearing the end of my manuscript, otherwise known as my WIP (Work in progress). While I have written the epilog I still don’t know how it will end. I learn what is going on as the story unfolds, kind of like the reader doesn’t know what happens until he/she reads the book, I do not know until I put the words on the paper. The only difference is I cannot flip to the back of the book to find out! This is frustrating as my “voices” have added in a new character, as well as a dog, and I have no idea where they are going with either of these. I can only do what has worked in the past, write what they tell me and trust that they know what they are doing! Yes, I hear voices. Yes, I listen to them. Does that make me crazy? Maybe, but then again maybe if others listened to their voices they too could go in directions they never in their life imagined they’d go… My advice to you, listen to your own voices. Step out of your comfort zone. Do what it is that makes you happy. I don’t know if we only have one life to live, or if we get to come back and do it again and again. But if, as some people say, we only have one life, then isn’t it best to live that life to the fullest? Wouldn’t it be better to look back on your life and say, “wow, I can’t believe I did that,” than to say “dang I sure wish I’d done that.” Live for today for tomorrow may be too late…